


though i falter

by siehn



Series: sea-born son of the wild [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode 65 Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/pseuds/siehn
Summary: Later, Fjord stares down at the falchion and the narrowed eye staring back at him and wonders.





	though i falter

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers, obviously.
> 
> Look y'all. I love Fjord. I came to love him the long way 'round, and his journey is so interesting to me. This probably will not be the last thing I write. It's just a tiny, un-beta'd thing, and I'm out of practice. 
> 
> Please, please, please do not share this with any of the cast. I prefer to keep my fandom experience within fandom.

 

_His will will find you again. Until then, rest._

For a moment – less than a breath or a blink or a heartbeat – Fjord feels her kneeling over him, his head pillowed on her lap, her hands cupping his face; he never had a mother, but he imagines it would have felt like this. It’s almost unbearably warm there, in her embrace; instead of cold, dead sea brine, he can smell wildflowers and sea salt – there’s an impression of a smile and the slightest touch of fingers over his eyes, the blessings of a goddess passed from her lips to his forehead.

_Rest_

Fjord is warm and safe and the presence of Uk’otoa seems so far away. He doesn’t fight it – succumbs easily to the sleep she wills on him, the fear of drowning in his dreams banished for the night.

It’s the best sleep he’s had since he woke up on a beach with saltwater in his lungs and a sword in his hand.

He wakes to a view of the tree: tall and strange, warm where it should be imposing. He reaches up to rub the spot over his chest where Uk’otoa pulls at the orb, and he can’t help but wonder if the magic will still come if he calls it. He wants to try, wants to hold out a hand and magic up a small bluebird or a coiling, staring cat, but the Nein sprawl around him, stirring and he wants to keep this new, warm core to himself for now. He can still see the reaching vines piercing the bright yellow eye, beckoning him out, away, to a temporary reprieve.

It’s almost enough to make him weep, but he breathes deeply instead, grounds himself in the wonder of such a strange, new connection. The why of it is a thing for later; for now, in the aftermath of being pulled from the depths with his friends all around him, the fact that she did is enough. He yawns, stretching tired muscles, smiles and thanks Caduceus for breakfast, wondering if he should---

Nah.

Later, he remembers reaching for his magic in the midst of a long fall, his fingers gripping Jester, hoping it heeds him. He remembers desperation and fear, waiting for the cold of the depths to creep through him, Uk’otoa’s presence amplified in the back of his mind. Instead, thunder explodes around them and Fjord feels _warmth_ crawling through his veins –the surface of the sea on a sunny day, gulls flying overhead as the rest of the Nein play in the surf. A voice like an embrace telling him to rest – safety he hasn’t felt in years.

Later, Fjord stares down at the falchion and the narrowed eye staring back at him and _wonders_.


End file.
